


Invited

by Gimmie



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M, Mating Run, OCs - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-08
Updated: 2019-10-06
Packaged: 2019-11-14 02:06:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 12,195
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18043406
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gimmie/pseuds/Gimmie
Summary: In the past, Stiles was invited to be in a secret mating run. He changed his mind quickly and safeworded out, though, when he saw the traumatising reality of being run down and claimed by a fully shifted werewolf. But now his dad needs werewolf help, and Stiles is, once again, invited.





	1. Messengers

Stiles yawned, scrunching his eyes, and rolled away from the yellow laser beams stabbing through his eyelids. He hummed at the nice, cool dark on his face that he found in the other direction.

“Cute as ever,” a man’s voice said, his voice so deep and rumbly that it made the comment extra disturbing. Stiles’ eyes snapped open and he jerked up to sit against the headboard, staring at two strange men standing in his bedroom, with dark clothing, leather jackets, and beefy arms.

“Who the hell are you?”

“Just the messengers, Mr. Stilinski. We have a message from you, for you.” 

Stiles was unimpressed at the lack of sense that made. He wondered if there was some weird logic behind the words, or if the man was just an idiot and couldn’t speak right. 

The man held out a small square of paper, and Stiles’ eyes flicked between it and the man, before reaching out and taking it. He unfolded it with unsteady hands, embarrassed and frustrated at not being able to control the tremor that gave away how they had affected him.

‘Dear Me,

Yes, this was actually past-you that wrote this. See the bottom of the page for proof.’ 

Stiles glanced down, then bounced his eyes back up to the top with a wince, his gut panging just at the knowledge that others had seen this note. Aliens must have dug in his head. He would never write that shit down. Why the fuck would he chance that humiliation?

He got his answer when he returned to the words above. 

‘Werewolves are real, and they can help you if Dad ever desperately needs money or has serious health problems. Warning: Do not use this knowledge for anything else! The method of obtaining this help is something that will give you nightmares and end your life as you know it. Taking three jobs and toiling over the stove to cook food for Dad for the next thirty years has got nothing on this fucked up shit! Don’t be curious. Trust me, it’s better that you don’t know. As long as you don’t know about it, it won’t affect your life, I promise. Go about your day to day and just don’t think about it. I’m already getting my mind erased once. I don’t want to do it twice. If there’s anyone you can trust, it’s me, right? Please listen to yourself. I can tell you absolutely, that you DO NOT WANT.’

Stiles was still staring at it, red-faced and blinking, mind stalling, when one of the men spoke. 

“There’s no need to be embarrassed. Everybody has things—”

“Shut up, Maury,” the other man said, elbowing him sharply. 

Stiles was grateful for the man putting the kibosh on that, because he absolutely did not want to talk about his masturbatory habits or his grade three crush on his cousin from Ontario. 

“You thought you were sneaky writing that note to yourself before we erased your memories, but we found it and took it. You never saw it.”

Stiles’ brow and mouth scrunched closer to each other as he realized that made no sense. So much about this made no sense. “So...why are you bringing it to me now?”

The men’s faces seemed to both drop a notch toward sympathy and discomfort, and Stiles saw bad news coming. 

“Stiles, your dad is in the hospital.”

Stiles’ stomach did a flip and clenched, his heart starting to gallop.

“ _What?_ ”


	2. Discovery Channel Gone Wrong

The man put his arm around Stiles' shoulders with a creak of his leather jacket, and Stiles felt intimidated. But the man just gave him a squeeze — a one-armed _hug_ — and looked at him like a friend would, and it was strange, because he knew nothing about the man, but it was like the man knew him, and his eyes were comforting, trustworthy. His embrace felt warm and safe, and Stiles stayed in the heat and solidness of the man's side, an unexpected haven from the shitstorm that was his current life.

"You don't have to do anything for us, Stiles. The 'method' that you referred to in the letter was a mate bond with an alpha."

Stiles’ stomach tightened. He didn't like the sound of the word _mate_. Or _bond_. "Mate bond?" he asked, warily.

"Werewolf marriage," the man said. 

That phrase should definitely be said in a hushed voice with spooky jazz fingers, preferably around a campfire at night, but the man just continued on without fanfare. "Human mates receive health and strength through the bond, and that extends to their next of kin. You knew it would help your dad heal and live longer."

"And yet, I didn't want to do it," Stiles said, an edge to his tone. "That's incredibly telling."

"Yeah," the man conceded, sympathetically, and that just made Stiles more anxious about the choice he had to make. “You were pretty terrified.”

"So, you find desperate humans and throw them to the horny alpha wolves?"

" _What?_ No. Alphas choose who they like and invite them to a mating run.”

"Oh." Stiles deflated, his stomach twisting sickly. He'd been afraid of being dragged out into the woods and made a virgin sacrifice to some monstrous creature, but now he was being told he didn't even stand a chance of getting a mate bond. The wolf had to be _attracted_ to him. 

He and his dad were on their own if help was dependent on Stiles attracting romantic attention.

"Hey," the man said, giving him a gentle shake with the arm that was still around Stiles, expression concerned. 

Stiles gave him a small smile and forced himself to look on the bright side so he wouldn't seem so pathetic. "At least I don't have to worry about an alpha werewolf wanting to mate me."

"What?" the man said, his brows furrowing, and ‘Maury’ barked a laugh. 

"Kid," the man said, pulling a white envelope out of his jacket and holding it out, "this is the second time that you’ve been invited to the semi-annual mating run."

Stiles looked between the man and the envelope, trying to understand, before finally just taking it and opening it. 

The envelope didn't contain some shiny invitation in fancy cardstock, like Stiles was half-expecting. 

It held a cheque. For fifty grand. Made out to Heironim Genim Stilinski, on behalf of Hale Inc. 

Relief and dread mixed in his stomach, because here was the money he needed to help his dad, but a terrifying cost would have to be paid.

But the man said, "The money's yours, no strings attached. You don't have to accept the invite." 

Stiles looked at him, startled expression turning skeptical. No one gave away fifty grand for nothing in return. 

"Anyway," the man said, sort of half-joking as if to lighten the mood, "you've been like an itch that Hale can't scratch ever since he caught sight and smell of you; I bet you could turn him down and he'd just invite you to the mating run again next year."

"I've met him?" Stiles tried to think of a guy he'd met that could have been named Hale, but the man beside him shook his head.

"No, not really."

Creepy. But Stiles wouldn't bet on getting another invite. Even some werewolf with a creepy fascination with him would get bored and find someone else if Stiles dodged him twice.

"I don't even know what a mating run _is_."

"Right. Well, all you have to do is go for a nice wander in the woods for a day. There will be others like you, too, but you’ll all separate and go your own ways. Your alpha will eventually track you in full wolf form, and when he finds you, you submit and let him, uh, mate you."

Stiles stared at him, the cheque in his fingers becoming crumpled and sweaty as his hands clenched around it. "I wander in the woods, waiting for a wolf to come and fuck me like discovery channel gone wrong?"

"Well, usually, we mate other wolves. Human mates aren't rare, per se, but they're definitely the minority. I can understand how it would seem strange to you."

'Strange' wasn't really the right word. 

Stiles could feel the blood draining out of his face.

"Like I said, you don't have to go," the man said.

But it wasn't that simple, was it? His dad's health was failing, the only family he had, and Stiles could save him, make him strong and whole again. He'd end up alone sooner rather than later, and feel the guilt of it forever, if he refused to help his dad when he had the chance.

"What happens after the run?" he asked, feeling a little like he was being choked.

The man shrugged. "Then you go live with Hale."

"Where does he live?"

"New York."

On the opposite side of the country from his dad. Fuck.

"What if I decide that I don't want to go with him?"

The man's eyes darkened, and he withdrew slightly and gave Stiles a serious look.

"Wolves don't tolerate divorce well, Stiles. If you go to the run, you'd better be sure it's what you want to do."

Stiles swallowed.

The man stepped away, straightening his jacket as if getting ready to leave. "The run isn't for a week. You have a few days to think about it."

Then he softened and patted Stiles on the shoulder. "I'll see you again soon."

Stiles watched them walk away, his heart thumping with stress at the decision he had to make.


	3. Jared Humphrey, Jr

“Stiles?” a female voice called. Stiles turned to a nurse looking at him from down the hall. “Your father is awake.”

Stiles ran down to his father’s room, swung himself around the doorframe, and saw his dad sitting up, still pale and ill looking, but awake and alive.

“Dad!” He ran over, then paused and carefully hugged his dad around his shoulders.

“Who told you?” Dad asked, like he wanted to know who had snitched, and Stiles would have punched him in the arm, if he wasn’t afraid of the effects it might cause. 

“You can’t tell them not to tell me, Dad!” 

“Only until after the surgery! I didn’t want you to worry. You’re a worry wart," he said, but that didn’t appease Stiles.

“How would you feel if I had to have surgery and didn’t tell you?”

His dad didn’t answer, but his expression said everything.

“See?” Stiles said. “So, quit being an asshole. And eat your green beans,” he added, pushing the hospital plate back toward him on his tray, where only the vegetables and a smear where meat and gravy used to be was left. He sat in the chair by his dad’s bedside. 

His dad sighed, long-suffering, and picked up his fork to eat the unloved greens. “Everything is going to be fine, Stiles. In six weeks or so, I’ll be right as rain.”

“Good,” Stiles said, but he wasn’t sure he 100% believed it. His dad was getting older, and his job was physically and mentally demanding, and now he had a hole in him and was getting heart surgery. That had to leave some damage behind. 

It could only be downhill from here.

 

*

When visiting hours were over and his dad had hugged him goodbye and laid down to go to sleep, Stiles finally wound his way out of the hospital, his stomach grumbling and ill. He hadn’t eaten anything but coffee and chocolate bars all day, living off of the vending machines in the halls. 

He pushed out of the glass door, into the night, and felt the chill wind cut through his thin shirt. It had gotten dark and cold since he’d driven there that morning. He folded his arms, scanning the area, trying to remember where he’d parked.

“Hey,” said a voice — his werewolf friend that he didn’t remember from the past. Stiles looked over at the man walking to him from the side of the lot. He had a very large, very fragrant, very red bouquet of flowers in hand, and he held them out. “From Hale,” he said.

Stiles unfolded his arms and straightened, reaching to take the gift. He wasn’t really sure what to think of it. On the one hand, it felt nice to get that kind of romantic attention that Stiles had never experienced before, that thrill of being _special_ , but on the other, he didn't know his suitor at all and so it was a little creepy. He bit his lip and touched one of the soft petals, the texture softer than skin and somehow making him wonder what it would be like to be touched by the alpha, and he pulled his hand away, not wanting to think about that. He dropped his arms to his sides, letting the bouquet hang there, his stomach tight, his mind in disarray.

“Aaaaannnd… this is from me,” the man said, reaching under the back of his jacket and pulling out a fancy, flat crystal bottle of golden brown liquid.

Stiles groaned gratefully and took it with an eager hand.

*

Stiles took another swig and passed it to his werewolf friend, no longer able to feel the cold, or the hard cement barrier at his back, or the pebbly pavement under his ass. It had been really uncomfortable, at first. Now, he didn’t really feel any inclination to ever leave. He twirled the bouquet slowly in his hands, breathing its pleasant fragrance, and trying to decide whether Hale sending them was classy or trashy.

“I’ve been meaning to ask you,” he said, and the man beside him looked at him.

“Hm?” he said, prompting Stiles to go ahead.

“What the hell is your _name?_ ”

*

His friend, Jared Humphry, Jr, twenty-eight years old, who he met around six months ago in a meeting that he didn’t remember, bought him a burger and curly fries through the drive-thru and then took him home. 

“Come on, all of it, or you’ll have a migraine tomorrow,” Jared said, tilting the glass of water up higher against Stiles’ face as he complained in muffled _mmphs_ and gulped to try to keep up. The glass finally lifted off and away and Stiles flopped backwards on his bed and groaned, stomach full and sloshy. Jared moved him around, tugging the blankets out from under him, and spread them over him.

Jared descended beside the bed and leaned to look him in the face. “You gonna be okay?”

“Why did I go?” Stiles asked, ignoring Jared’s question as he was distracted by the one on his own brain. “The first time?”

Jared hmphed amusedly and flopped an arm over Stiles’ chest. “Are you kidding me? Invitation to join a secret society of supernatural creatures and get super healing, as well as live the rest of your life with a hot, rich alpha that was madly in love with you? You were nervous about the run, but you didn’t want to pass up the chance to have that kind of excitement in your life.”

Stiles blinked at Jared. “Madly in love with me?” Then, “ _Hot?_ ”

Jared grinned like a cheshire cat. “You want to see a picture?”

Stiles sat up. “ _Yes_.” How was that even in question? Why had there been withholding of pictures?

Jared took one out from the front pocket of his jacket — he'd _totally_ been withholding — and Stiles snatched it from his hand. He stared at the small photo of a stubbly GQ model’s face, no smile, like a mugshot almost, but so attractive it almost hurt, and his mouth dropped open. 

Jared burst out laughing beside him, and Stiles took a drunken, half-hearted swipe at him for laughing at his expense, but it went wide and Jared ducked it easily. 

"This is not him. Why would you do that?" he demanded, put out at being fooled.

“That's him, alright, Stiles, and some things never change,” Jared said, and Stiles felt his face heating, because just seeing the alpha’s face had kind of given him a boner.

“So, why did I back out then, if everything was so exciting?” he asked.

Jared’s expression fell back to soberness, and he shrugged.

“Seeing his wolf scared you.”


	4. Revelations

Stiles gripped his pounding head as sunlight washed into the kitchen window, his elbows on the breakfast table. The clanking of Jared working in the kitchen sent stabs through his temple. The man finally finished, and Stiles let out a breath of relief. 

"I remember you saying something last night about me being afraid of Hale’s wolf.”

Jared set two plates of greasy food on the table and sat down across from him, taking a sausage and munching on it as he said, “Uh-huh,” seemingly disinterested in the subject.

“Why?”

“I don't know. The word is, that he just stepped out of the woods, and you fell on your ass and screamed. Yelled your safeword so loud that everyone else in the forest could probably hear you.” Jared picked up his fork to scoop up some hash browns, watching him like maybe Stiles might shed some light on the subject.

Stiles’ face heated up in embarrassment, and he groaned and put his forehead on the table. 

“Was he huge and mutated?” Stiles asked. “Did he have the bloody stump of a leg in his mouth?”

“Well, he’s big?” Jared offered, and swallowed some apple juice to wash his food down. “Like, muscular and male. Jet black and furry. His ears are pointy and his eyes get glowy sometimes when he’s around you, so maybe he seemed kind of demonic?”

Hale sounded like a big puppy. Stiles didn’t understand, didn't believe that that could be the whole picture. 

“I didn’t tell you what scared me about him?” 

Jared shook his head and shrugged apologetically. “It was strange. You didn’t want to be around any alphas after that. You seemed relieved when they told you that it was standard procedure that you had to have your memory wiped before you could go home.”

Stiles let that digest for a moment, but saw no way to figure it out. “Well, that sucks,” he said, finally. He wondered if he would ever know what had happened. The memories were gone now. “Next time, I’ll include it in the note,” he said, semi-humorously.

Jared’s fork stopped mid-scrape on his plate, and his eyes flicked up to Stiles. Stiles felt uncomfortable under the stare. “Don’t get me wrong, Stiles, I’m rooting for you going to the run, but it’s going to really freaking suck if you do that again. Please don’t.”

Stiles didn’t know what to say, feeling like a heel, when he didn’t even know exactly what he’d done or why. He didn’t remember any of it.

“First of all,” Jared said, releasing Stiles from his stare and going back to eating, “we couldn’t hang out anymore, and we were getting to be pretty tight, you and me. And my alpha was all frustrated and snappish and we had to do surveillance on your house for a long time, and there’s only so many times I can listen to you masturbate.”

Stiles grimaced, beginning to wish he hadn’t woken up this morning. He especially wished that he had never started this conversation that seemed to be nothing but revelations of humiliation on top of humiliation. “Can we talk about something that doesn’t revolve around how pathetic I am?”

Jared reached for the ketchup. "We love you, and we want you in our pack,” he said, like that should negate anything Stiles thought was pathetic about him.

It surprisingly kind of worked. The look in his eyes as he said it settled Stiles’ stomach, and he released a shuddery breath as the words were a balm to his hot embarrassment, cooling his blood and leaving a sense of wellness that he wasn’t used to. He realized that he felt like he had someone other than his dad, and it occurred to him that these new feelings weren’t something he wanted to lose. He didn’t want to go back to not knowing Jared, or that werewolves existed, or that some alpha out there liked him and wanted to send him flowers. 

“If I don’t go to the mating run, they’re still going to erase my memories of all of this, though, right?”

Jared looked at him and nodded, pursing his lips in a way that was sad and apologetic. “We’ll still look out for you, though."

"Please, no," Stiles winced. "A guy needs his privacy, okay?"

"It's not so bad," Jared shrugged. "I like that little sound you make when you—"

"Shut up!" Stiles said, eyes closing tight and hands going over his face, and Jared laughed.

Stiles slid his hands down with a groan and let them fall.

"But seriously," Jared said, sitting forward and looking more sober. "You know, the one where you sort of pant it out and—" He made a startled, playful sound as Stiles leapt over the table and grabbed his face to try to smother it.

*

Stiles walked into his dad's hospital room an hour later, and his dad made a horrified, concerned sound, adjusting on his bed and sitting up.

Stiles knew he looked like crap, but he hadn't been expecting that much of a reaction to it. He had changed into clean clothes and washed his face, but there was nothing he could do about the bags under his eyes.

"Are you high?" his dad asked, and Stiles' brows furrowed.

" _No_ , Dad," he said. "I'm just tired. I partied all night, since I've got the house to myself while you're in here," he sassed. He flopped down into the bedside chair, landing like a dead starfish, limbs like noodles.

His dad laid back again, grumbly.

"Hey, Dad," Stiles started, and his dad looked at him as if he was expecting something bad.

"What?" he asked, dubiously.

"I'm thinking of moving to New York." He didn't want his dad to be blindsided when the time came. He should have some kind of warning.

"What?" Dad said, his brows furrowing at the completely out of the blue statement. "Why?"

He shrugged. "Excitement. It's the Big Apple," he lied.

"It's also crowded, and expensive. You find it exciting to live in a rat hole and work two jobs to pay for it?"

Stiles shifted on his seat, feeling uncomfortable.

"I was thinking maybe you could come, too."

"And pay for the rat hole apartment so you can continue to live at home?" his dad said.

"No. It just would be nice to have you nearby. It's a long way to New York. It'd be hard to visit."

"Maybe we can talk about somewhere closer," his dad said, dryly, shifting down further on his bed, unimpressed with his son's idea. "Somewhere in California. Where you can make the drive to visit."

Stiles' stomach twisted sadly, but he pursed his lips in an acknowledging semi-smile. "Sure, Dad."

*

Stiles sat looking out at the backyard from the back stoop, Jared a warm presence next to him, radiating heat from a foot away.

"Okay, let's talk about it. Spill."

Stiles made a noncommittal sound and clasped his hands between his bent knees. "Nothing. Dad just doesn't want to move to New York. I already knew that he didn't."

"You don't know what he's going to do until the time comes. He might surprise you."

"Yeah, I guess."

"Besides, Derek will fly him out to visit you."

"Derek?"

"Hale," Jared said.

Stiles turned the name over in his mind, exploring how he felt about the sound, considering the fact that it would be the name of his werewolf husband, if Stiles went through with it.

"Tell me about him," he said.

It was silent for too long, and Stiles looked over to see Jared's face looking like he didn't know what to say.

"You know him, right?" Stiles said, wondering if he misunderstood. "Are you just an underling that never actually sees the boss?"

"I know him."

"Then tell me."

But silence prevailed again.

"Jared," Stiles pressed.

"I'm trying to think of something to say that won't scare you off!" Jared exclaimed, then winced at what he'd said.

Stiles brought his knees up and curled over them, stomach rolling. "Oh."

"No, not _’oh’_ ," Jared said, frustrated, and visibly tried to come up with a way to make it better. "He's broody, okay? You saw his picture. He strides around and barks out orders and says douchey things like 'I'm the alpha'. He threatens to rip people's throats out with his teeth on the reg — not that he ever does it — well except that one time — but he's not a bad guy. He protects what's his and won't let anyone mess with us."

Stiles listened in growing horror, staring at Jared. 

"Look," Jared said, making a chopping motion with his hand, "I don't want to tell you that he's great and sell you on the idea and you blame me later for convincing you to mate him."

Stiles kept staring, things getting worse and worse. 

Jared sighed and dropped his face into his hands, groaning. "For what it's worth, I think you could be happy, and that having you as a mate would be good for him.” He lifted his head, looking at Stiles. 

Stiles wrapped his arms around his knees and stared out at the yard, his mind swimming in all of the information that had just been dumped on him. 

**

Jared got a call suddenly, and said he had to go. Stiles was too distracted by his thoughts of what Jared had just said about Hale to ask why, and absently returned the shoulder slap that he gave him and mumbled a polite answer to his promise to see him again soon. He sat on the back steps for a long time, before the stiffness in his back and ass started to get through to him and he rose and went inside, feeling lost and anxious as he realized he didn't think he could go through with marrying Hale, and that he was going to lose everyone he loved, because of it.

He had a bit of a panic attack in the kitchen, pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes and feeling his body go stiff and uncontrollable, his breathing forced.

When he could move again, he went to the stereo and blasted some rock for privacy from prying werewolves and then retired to his room, locking the door and window and pulling the blinds tight.


	5. Missing

In the morning, the house was silent. He had fallen asleep with the sound of Rod Stewart belting out about being forever young from the living room, but now all he heard was some birds chirping outside of his window and the odd car motoring by on the street.

Jared must have gotten back and turned it off. Stiles rolled out of bed and stumbled to the door, heading down the stairs, wanting to find him and talk to him. 

Instead of Jared, Maury was in the kitchen, reading the newspaper at the breakfast nook. “Sleep okay?” the werewolf asked, casually, in his deep voice, briefly glancing over from his reading. 

“Not really,” Stiles said, a gap opening in his chest at the lack of his friend and confidant. He didn't have anyone else he could really trust to talk to about this. 

"There's coffee and pastries on the counter, and a gift from Hale."

Stiles turned his head to see a cardboard tray of to-go cups and danishes, and a white box sitting next to them with a red bow on it. It was about the size of a deck of cards.

He walked over and pursed his lips at it, thinking about the asshole Jared had described and what kind of motives a guy like that had for sending gifts to _Stiles_ of all people.

"I'm not even that attractive," Stiles said. "He hasn't met me, so if he's not looking for a trophy to hang off of his arm, then what's this about?"

Maury didn't seem to think that the conversation warranted abandoning his newspaper. He turned a page, as he said, "The alpha wants what the alpha wants, and what he wants is you. That's all that matters." 

Stiles scowled. He hoped Jared returned soon. 

Stiles opened the gift box. There was a delicate gold chain inside, from which hung a heart-shaped locket that radiated romanticism with its love-shape and intricate engraved design, and on the chain with it, was the very personal item of a house key. There was a piece of paper folded into a small square under it. He pulled it out and unfolded it.

It was a print out of a real estate sheet. There were six pictures showing the different rooms of a condo: a living room with a balcony that looked out over the skyscrapers of New York; a bedroom with a similar balcony view and cream-colored carpet; a bathroom the size of a bedroom with a spa tub and two sinks; a kitchen that was obviously custom-designed with its red cupboards and beautiful black and grey tile work on the backsplash; another bedroom with its own, more regular-sized bathroom ensuite; and one more small room with a large window that took up most of one wall and looked like it would be a good home office space.

The only thing written in handwriting was a short, three word scrawl at the bottom: _For your dad_.

Stiles’ stomach cinched and a prickle went up his back as he suddenly felt very _watched_. He'd known that wolves were surveilling him, but he hadn't connected that to every word he said going back to Hale. But Hale had obviously voyeured that conversation last night. Stiles remembered how Jared’s phone had rung right after he'd said all of those things about Hale, and then he had had to leave. And he hadn't come back. "Where's Jared?" he asked, getting a feeling in his gut that felt like dread, making his pulse rise and his head sick.

"Hale called him back to New York," Maury said, looking at Stiles carefully, like he knew a blow up was coming.

"Because of what he told me?" Stiles said, bitterly, the half-question more a statement to be confirmed.

"I understand why he said what he did,” Maury said, evenly. “After you bailed out of the first run, you accused him of manipulating you, told him his friendship was garbage. You got your memory erased right after, but he's been carrying that with him since. And it's eaten at him. _But_ ," he said, like that was a sufficient way to end a sentence, and shook out his newspaper to read again.

"But you don't dis your alpha," Stiles finished, knowing what was left unsaid, and furious about it. He felt sick with himself at saying those things to Jared and hurting the wolf. They obviously weren't true. And he worried about what the alpha would do to Jared, now that he knew what a condescending prick the alpha was. It sounded like Hale had a temper.

"He upset you," Maury said, making Stiles feel naked and watched again at the glib mention that his panic attack had been witnessed. "Hale's been waiting a year and a half for you; he's not going to tolerate anything that might jeopardize it."

"He's not going to tolerate Jared?" Stiles repeated, plainly, wanting to stab a werewolf. A particular alpha werewolf. He'd better fucking not even _try_ to rip Jared's throat out with his teeth. "Well, tell him he doesn't have to worry about that. I'm coming to the run," he said. _Someone_ had to put the alpha in his place. Stiles was angry enough to feel up to the task.

Maury gave him a comprehending and sizing up look, but let the threat pass without comment and said, "He'll be pleased to hear it, Stiles.”


	6. Chapter 6

Stiles swung from anxious to furious and back again. When he was mad he felt almost invincible, but when he was scared he felt as fragile as glass and didn’t know what he was going to do about Hale. Derek wanted him in some way, and Stiles hoped that meant that Derek wouldn’t kill him when he gave the alpha a piece of his mind and told him he was an asshole, because he wasn't sure he would be able to help it.

Stiles took a long, deep breath and tried to calm himself a few hours later in the hospital hallway. His blood was still boiling off and on and he was still worried about what he was going to do about Hale and missing Jared, but he wasn’t going to put any unnecessary stress on his dad by letting him know something was wrong.

He finally felt like his face was under control enough to walk into the room, and walked through the door.

“Hey, Dad,” he said, forcing a smile and giving his dad a casual, one-armed hug in greeting, and sitting in the usual, horrible, square chair. “What’s happenin’?”

“You don’t have to spend every day in here with me, Stiles. It’s enough that I have to be in here, you don’t have to suffer, too.”

“Yeah, I know, Dad.” Stiles wheeled the table closer that went over his dad’s lap for his dinner tray, and took a deck of cards from his pocket. “Gin rummy?” he asked, breaking the deck into two stacks and bending them with his thumbs so that they flipped down together in a quick stream like the pages of a book, and then bent them the other way, letting them shoot up into each other, tapping them neatly into one stack in his hands. 

“Sure, kid. Sounds good.”

Stiles dealt the cards, happy that he could cheer his dad up, and set the stack in the middle as they picked up their cards to inspect them. 

“How are the parties going?” his dad asked, as he sorted his hand, and Stiles’ brow furrowed, before he remembered his comment the other day, and his brow relaxed. 

“Awesome,” he said. “Licking shots out of cheerleaders’ belly buttons, and all that, you know. All my new friends are going to be so disappointed when you come home.”

“I bet,” Dad said, drawing a card from the stack.

Stiles glanced at his dad and paused, frowning at the absently discomfited look on his father’s face, and the way he rubbed his chest in a small massaging motion before taking a card from his hand and discarding it.

“You okay?” Stiles asked. 

“I’m fine,” Dad said, dismissively, waving him on. "Your turn."

Stiles watched his dad for a moment, and his dad just raised his brows at him, so he picked up a card, his eyes flicking over to his dad often as he chose a card to put down. There didn't seem to be any more worrying chest pains, fortunately.

They finished the game, and then watched some TV, Stiles’ mind distracted by thoughts of Hale and what would happen if he chose not to go to the run. He left around eight o’clock, assured by his dad and the nurse, both, that his dad would be out of the hospital in a couple of days. 

He unlocked the house door and walked into the kitchen, and Maury stepped out and held out a white box, flat and rectangular, only a couple of inches thick. It was tied closed with twine.

“From—”

“Hale, yeah, I know. Tell him he can’t buy love, or forgiveness,” Stiles said, grabbing the box and heading upstairs with it under his arm.

He kicked his bedroom door shut behind him with his heel, and tossed the box on his bed. It was fairly light, but full, and didn’t make any noise except the flop of cardboard on his covers, reminding him of when he got sweaters for christmas. Did Hale send him clothes? Hale was rich and probably snobby about what he wore, especially being endowed with good looks, but Stiles wore plaid and t-shirts, and if Derek didn’t like it, he could suck it. 

He went to the closet and stripped out of his clothes, reaching for his pajamas, but he was looking at the box, reluctantly curious. He wanted to know what kind of clothes Derek would give him. He walked over and picked it up, tugging the string over the corner and dragging it off, then flipping open the lid. 

He snorted and lifted out a long sleeved t-shirt made of a heavy, blue fabric that slipped softly through his fingers. He didn't even know what kind of material it was, and the shirt didn't have a tag. That and the black leather designs woven into the sleeves pegged it as designer, and expensive. He dropped it and picked up the pants and unfolded them. They were dark, and had a little stretch to the thick fabric and a tailored look to the shape, with black metal accents. They looked like something a rockstar or celebrity might wear. “Seriously?” he said, throwing the clothes back in the box and tossing it aside. “Has Hale seen the kind of clothes I wear? Do I seem like I’m into fashion?”

Maury ignored him, though Stiles knew he could hear. Stiles went to put on his pajamas, but slowed and gave in, and tried the pants and shirt on. Stiles sighed as he pushed his hands through the sleeves and pulled the neck hole over his head. He tugged the hem down and turned to face the mirror, and blinked in surprise at the sight of his reflection, at the way the shirt accented the shape of his pecs and the narrowness of his waist, making him actually look pretty badass. He twisted his body around to see the back of it; he’d had no idea his shoulders and behind could look that good. He bent his elbows, flexing to see how the leather parts of the sleeves felt, expecting them to be irritating, but they were soft as butter and moved easily against his skin. The whole outfit clung to his body, but was so nice that it was like a soothing hug that he didn’t want to take off. It was more than comfortable enough to sleep in. More comfortable than his pajamas, if he were honest. Where his pajamas were loose and avoided irritating, these clothes rubbed and warmed and enveloped him in softness that felt actively comforting.

“Still not forgiven!” he called, as he flicked off the light switch and crawled under his covers, but inside he was thinking that this seemed suspiciously like Hale’s response to his comment about not being that attractive.

*

When he woke up in the morning, the first thing he did when he rolled out of bed was look in the mirror. Yep, he still looked rockstar sexy. Bed hair only accentuated that fact. The clothes weren’t even wrinkled, either. “What kind of material even is this?” he wondered aloud, pulling out the front of the shirt and smoothing it between his finger and thumb.

He should get dressed to go see his dad. Looking over at his jeans made him unhappy, though, because jeans were uncomfortable and scratchy compared to the kitten-soft material hugging his body at the moment.

“Tell Hale, same material, but tone down the sexy,” he said, pretty sure that at least one werewolf could hear him. “And send Jared back!"

*

In the end, he threw a white hoodie on over the shirt and wore it to the hospital. People looked at him, which he wasn’t used to. Usually they kind of glanced at, or skimmed over him, like he was something inconsequential, akin to telephone poles, or lawn ornaments. Now, they lingered just a second longer. And girls looked at him. They checked out his ass. He totally could have gotten laid in high school, he realized, if only he’d known how to dress himself. 

Now was a terrible time to realize this, as he only had five days left before he'd be werewolf married, and he doubted Hale would tolerate infidelity. And if he decided to ditch Hale now and date other people, would he remember how to be hot once they erased his memory? The pack would take the outfit, because it didn’t belong in his memories once Hale and the mating run were erased, and Stiles wasn’t sure he’d ever figure this out on his own. Without this experience, he was pretty sure the rest of his life would have continued to be plaid and jeans. 

So, Hale was the only one this knowledge was going to benefit. That sucked.

Stiles vowed to dress terribly for the alpha.

The elevator dinged and he stepped out into the sterile hall, to hear disturbing voices and commotion, his eyes darting over to where his dad’s room was. He realized that nurses and doctors were in there and that they were in emergency mode, and he ran.

“Out of the way!” one said, pushing right through him as they pulled his dad out, making him stumble back. 

“Dad!” he called, but his dad’s face stayed pale and still, flopping on his pillow as the stretcher moved and turned jerkily in their hurry.

He followed them down the hall, but they left him behind as the elevator shut in his face. He jabbed the button for the other one repeatedly, then ran for the stairs. He asked at the desk where they’d taken him, but was only directed to a waiting room. 

He sat with his face in his hands, trying to keep his breathing even and tell himself that his dad would live, that he wasn’t too late, but he kept feeling a surge of anger and self-hate shoot up through his chest because he’d been such a damn idiot and a coward to tap out of the previous mating run, when this scenario had always been a possibility. His dad could have started having super healing six months ago. He could have been healthy, and not in an emergency operation, fighting for his life. 

Five days until the next mating run. Just five days, but it seemed like way too long when his dad could be dead in minutes. Could be dead right _now_.

He realized that he didn’t really even know anything about the enhanced healing. Did it happen immediately? Was it a slow progression that took time? Would it work on the things that were wrong with his dad? His stomach twisted. 

A doctor finally came out and looked at him, then started toward him. Stiles’ stomach dropped at the look on the man’s face. He stood quickly, his heart thudding sickly.

“There were complications,” the doctor started, with a solemn look in his eyes, and Stiles’ knees were suddenly too weak to hold him, and he had to sit down again, because he instinctively knew that that expression on the man's face meant the worst news. There was no hope offered in the man's eyes, only sympathy.

“He’s dead?” Stiles asked, unable to fathom it, the world dropping out from under his feet.

The doctor made a pained look. Then the man nodded, and Stiles had to gasp for his next breath. 

“His body is still going on life support, but he's not going to wake up. Essentially, he's gone. I’m sorry.”

*

Stiles’ shoes pounded the floor as he raced down the hallway and shoved through the glass door, his eyes darting around for his jeep. He needed to get home, needed to ask Maury if the mate bond could heal brain damage, get his dad out of a _coma_ —

Maury stepped out from against the brick wall behind the door.

“Can the mate bond—” Stiles started, desperately.

“Yes," Maury said, stopping him with hands on his shoulders. "Yes, Stiles, the bond will heal your dad. He’ll be fine.”

Stiles breathed out, shaking, but he needed to see it happen, couldn’t be fully relieved until his Dad opened his eyes and Stiles could see for himself that he was fine.

“Are you sure?” He wiped tears off his face, uncaring about being a mess in public.

“One hundred percent.”

That eased Stiles’ nerves a little more, let him breathe normally, even if he was still terrified. 

It was going to be a long five days.


	7. Chapter 7

Stiles walked through the hospital on dead feet. He hadn't gotten much sleep. He stumbled as he wove around a running child and bumped shoulders accidentally with the mother as the parents came behind the kid. "Sorry! Sorry!" he said, raising a hand in apology. He missed a nurse more easily, as she navigated around him with the precision of a sports car and kept going without looking back. 

There was a man sitting in a chair against the wall across from his dad's room, reading a book. Stiles could hear speaking in hushed tones in the room next to the man, who was politely ignoring everything around him, so Stiles pretended the man wasn’t there, too.

He stepped into the doorway of his dad's room and leaned his shoulder against the jam. He watched his dad's chest minutely rise and fall in time to the hush sound of the machines, and his hands clenched in his pockets at how still and pale he looked. Footsteps came up the hallway, clipped and official sounding, and when they slowed as they got close, Stiles looked over to see the doctor. The man held out a clipboard and Stiles took it, glancing at the paper on it with a frown.

"It's just a formality. We would have unplugged him already if you hadn't been eighteen yet. We just need your signature at the bottom by the x."

Stiles gave a shudder at the realization that he would have had to stand by and watch them kill his dad if he hadn't had that particular birthday seven months ago.

"No," he said, pushing the clipboard back at the doctor. "I'm keeping him on life support."

The man pursed his lips sympathetically. "I know it’s hard, but I don't think you understand. Keeping him on life support is racking up a sizable debt each and every day that is not covered by insurance, and he’s never going to wake up. The damage is too extensive."

Stiles' teeth clenched until they hurt. "Don't worry about it. Leave me alone," he said.

The doctor sighed, like he was sad for him, but took his clipboard and pen and left. Stiles had no doubt the man would be revisiting the conversation with him again.

Stiles went home after an hour. It was too hard to just sit and watch his dad like that. Maury glanced at him from the table as he came in, but didn't say anything as Stiles went up to his room. 

He curled up on his bed, hugging his blanket, and tried to sleep. His mind wouldn't shut down, and when it did, he had nightmares. 

In the morning, he dragged himself back to the hospital, because even though it sucked to be there and felt like it couldn't do any good, he couldn't just _not_. He needed the reassurance of seeing that nothing had changed with his dad’s condition, and that they hadn't pulled the life support while he was gone.

Everything was the same. The man in the blue polo was even sitting across the hall, reading a different book now. Stiles looked at him for longer this time, noticing his biceps stretching his short sleeves and the tattoo on his hand. After several minutes of staring, the man raised his gaze to meet Stiles'. 

"Hi, Stiles," he said, dropping all pretense like a surprise attack, and Stiles straightened with a jerk.

"Who are you?"

The man flashed gold eyes at him to show he was a werewolf, and then strangely turned his head to show Stiles his neck. Stiles didn't really understand the gesture or why he would use it on him, but it calmed him anyway, because it was obviously the opposite of offering a threat. 

"My name's Ryan."

"Why are you here?" Stiles asked. "This is kind of a private thing to be sitting and watching,” he pointed out, unhappy.

"I'm here for protective detail. For him," he said, indicating Stiles' dad with a tip of his head.

"From what? I know a lot of criminals don't like him, but who would come after him when he's a vegetable?"

The man shrugged easily. "There's a couple that lets their kid wander while they visit, and he snoops — could trip a tube or wire, or push buttons."

"Don't they have alarms if the machine stops working?"

The man shrugged again. "The doctor thinks he'd be doing you a favor if something went wrong, and two of the nurses on this floor agree. And then there's the fact that the batteries in the machine smell old, so if there’s a blackout it might stop his breathing and kill him, and then there’s also the fact—"

"Okay, that's enough nightmare fodder. Shouldn't there be two of you here, in case one of you needs to take a bathroom break?" he said. His folded arms had tightened, squeezing his chest.

"We’re prepared for whatever might happen. You don't need to worry. You should go home and rest."

Stiles gave a small, humorless laugh at the idea of _rest_. 

Still, he went home, because there was nothing for him to do there and his dad seemed to be safe in the wolf's hands.

"Tell Hale thank you for protecting my dad," he said, in a low grumble, as he passed Maury on the way to his room. He couldn't ignore the gesture, even if Hale was an asshole. Maury looked taken off guard, then simply nodded.

Upstairs, he sat on his bed, and then got up and paced.

His room felt stifling and lonely. He couldn't stand the silence, but his iTunes playlist held no appeal. Instead, he played an internet radio station dedicated to screamo, because it was about the only music he could stand right then.

He fell asleep around five am, because he was too exhausted to stay awake any longer. When he woke up, the music had been shut off again. 

There was a knock on his door. 

"What?" he asked, pulling his blanket over his shoulder and groaning. His eyes felt like they'd been attacked by sandpaper and then inflated by a bike pump.

"Delivery from Hale."

Stiles looked at the door and wondered what the alpha had sent him now. 

"Come in."

The door opened and Maury walked in with a white box. It wasn't wrapped and it had holes in it. The tiniest, most pathetic little _meow_ came out of it, and Stiles sat up to look inside it as Maury held it out.

It was just a tiny little baby, eyes still stuck shut, falling over as it tried to crawl around inside the box. It didn't look old enough to be weaned from its mother yet, and the thought of it made Stiles' stomach hurt, tears stinging his eyes as he thought of his own mom and dad, taken from him too soon.

"Where's the kitten's mom? He still needs his mom," Stiles said, and then, embarrassingly, burst into tears.

Maury's brows went up and his eyes got wide, seemingly not knowing how to handle a crying Stiles. "His mom died…”

Stiles' crying ratched up and Maury looked stricken.

"I'll send him back,” Maury said.

"Give me that kitten!" 

Maury quickly handed over the box.

Stiles picked up and cuddled the kitten and then laid back and set it on top of him. It weighed approximately nothing, just a warm spot on his chest. It kept meowing pitifully and bit at his finger. "He's hungry,” Stiles said.

"I'll bring up a bottle for him,” Maury said, turning and leaving.

Stiles wiped his eyes and focused on the ball of fur stumbling around on top of him, petting it and trying to soothe it. It settled something in him, having the kitten to hold, soft and warm and alive, and he felt a determination to take care of it.

Maury returned a few minutes later with a tiny bottle of milk and a plate of fries and chicken strips.

“I know it doesn’t seem likely, since modern medicine doesn’t stand a chance of helping your dad, but werewolf healing is different. I’ve seen it work on a slit throat that has bled out and been pronounced dead, a pole through the chest, a guy with arrows jabbed in his eyes—”

Stiles shot up in the bed, hugging the kitten, brows high and furrowed in horror. “Geez, Maury! No wonder I backed out of joining the werewolf scene. What is wrong with you people?”

“The point is, your father will be fine,” Maury said, refusing to comment. He gave Stiles a raised brow look, and then left the room.

And he was right. Getting his dad back was all that mattered to Stiles, so he laid back down and didn’t think about the violence, only about his dad waking up and what he was going to tell him about all of this when he got out of the hospital.


	8. Chapter 8

He went to the bank and deposited Hale’s cheque, remembering what the doctor had said about life support racking up a debt and not wanting to take the risk of them cutting him off for stupid financial reasons. When he inquired about paying the bill at the hospital, though, they said it had already been paid that morning.

He knew who had done it.

He went up to his dad, just to look in and make sure he looked the same, but he didn’t stay. It was too much to sit and look at him right now.

There was an unfamiliar black sedan in the driveway when he got home. Before he had even dropped to the ground from his jeep, Maury was coming out of the house with the kitten in one hand and herding Stiles to the shiny car.

"Come on," Maury said, guiding him with a hand between his shoulder blades. 

"What's going on?"

"We're just going to take you somewhere to get your mind off of things for a bit." He opened the door and gestured Stiles to get inside.

"I think it'd be better if I just stayed home," Stiles said, taking his kitten from Maury. He couldn't imagine anything being able to take his mind off of the fact that his dad was considered dead by the doctors. 

But Maury gently pushed him, and then Stiles was ducking into the backseat with Maury's hand on his head and the door was slamming, shutting him inside.

They drove for half an hour before pulling up to a large building. "A hotel?" he said, dubiously, looking up at it from his window.

"Come on," Maury said, getting out of the car. He opened Stiles’ door and simply waited, until Stiles sighed and got out. Maury led the way inside the hotel, passing right by the registration desk and getting in the elevator. It was quiet and smelled like some lemon scented cleaner. It didn't stop until it was at the very top, where Maury led him down a silent hall with delicate looking wall sconces and plush carpet. There were skylights in the high ceiling.

Maury opened the door at the end with a keycard, and Stiles followed him inside. The suite was two stories high, with stairs leading up to a loft area. One wall was entirely made of glass, overlooking the city, a view to be enjoyed while soaking in the jacuzzi tub that sat in front of it. A woman came over and gestured toward a massage table that was a little ways away from the tub. 

"Would you like to take off your clothes and lay down so we can begin?"

Stiles looked at her and at the table. He glanced at Maury.

"Just make sure you leave your boxers on," the man said, and took the kitten and turned and walked away to the kitchen.

Stiles stripped down and laid on the padded table. He expected the leather to be cold at first, but it was heated like an electric blanket, and he relaxed and rested his face in the hole designed for it, sighing at the perfect fit.

Her hands softly, slowly slid upward from his mid back up to his shoulders, then slid down, gradually getting firmer as she began slowly kneading, working him up to it. 

Maury sat at the kitchen table with his back to them, giving them privacy while he silently drank a coffee and read a magazine. The room was quiet except for the sound of Stiles' breathing reflecting back at him from the leather, and skin quietly rubbing as she massaged him head to foot.

He never forgot about his troubles, exactly, but he was able to rest as they settled more into the background at the feel of her hands working his muscles. He could see part of the city far below through the window and that added to the calming feeling. It was a more effective treatment to his frame of mind than he would have thought. It made time pass in a blur. He didn't think it was normal for massages like this to go on and on, usually they were an hour, he had thought, but she didn't stop until he lifted his head and motioned to her so he could get off the table, because even though it seemed like time was in a limbo and not even passing, he knew it was, because he was starving and he had to pee. It was just like when he got sucked into the Internet, and nothing, but urgent bodily functions, could bring him back to the real world.

He saw by the clock on the wall that it had been over four hours since he'd arrived. His legs wobbled a little as he stood on them, rubbery and not ready to start working again so suddenly.

"Sorry," he said, imagining how tired her hands probably were. "You should have told me. I didn't mean to keep you so long."

"It's no problem, Mr. Hale. It wasn't that long," she assured, and he felt awkward, having mixed feelings about the premature title. 

"Okay, well, thanks."

"I'll be here if you need me."

That seemed unnecessary, for her to just hang around and wait, but it seemed like it was normal business to her, so he didn't say anything and went to find the bathroom. 

It had six sprayers in the shower and a separate bathtub that was legit made of rock, like they had just carved it straight out of a boulder. The towel he dried his hands on made him pause and pet it, because it was just so soft. He wondered how someone's life could be like this. It was crazy.

It was even crazier to think that _his_ life would be like this.

_Mr. Hale._

It seemed like eventually they had to realize that he wasn't worthy of the title. He was just a normal kid, a nobody. 

Derek obviously didn't know what he was buying. Stiles could only hope that he didn't find out until after the bond was sealed and his dad was back to himself.

The thought stuck with him, and he found himself going back on his vow to dress terribly and instead planning to throw away all of his plaid when he got home and go shopping for a new wardrobe, ASAP. 

When he came out, Maury handed him a burrito wrapped in tinfoil. Stiles inhaled it, starving.

“The bed’s up there,” Maury said, pointing up the stairs, and Stiles turned his attention that way and went up into the loft to check it out. The covers were turned back and the kitten was curled up on the sheets. He was already in his boxers and had no other plans, so he slid into the bed and pulled the covers up, wrapping himself around the sleeping kitten.

“We’ll be down here, if you need anything,” Maury’s voice said from the main floor, and the wolf didn’t even have to raise his voice above normal for it to be heard. Stiles thought it would be strange to sleep with them basically in the same room, but as he closed his eyes, he found there was actually a comfort to it. He fell asleep.

He awoke shaking from a nightmare, sobbing. A dark figure stood near the bed, hovering, that he deduced was Maury. 

He had dreamed he was in a forest. A wolf-like monster had come for him, and he had screamed. The monster had just sniffed him and walked away disinterestedly, as if he didn’t care that Stiles turned him down, not even looking back even though Stiles apologized and begged him. 

“Stiles?” the man said — not Maury after all. Stiles’ head jerked up at the voice, and a sound jumped out of his throat. He shot up, hugging Jared. “Are you okay?” Stiles demanded, gripping the werewolf’s shoulders.

“I was going to ask you the same thing,” Jared said, a hand splayed on Stiles’ back, steadying him.

“I’m—fine,” Stiles faltered. The look on Jared’s face said he could tell Stiles was lying, even in the semi-dark.

“Would you...um, take me clothes shopping today? I need to get some things.”

Jared kept staring at him, like he was reading his words as clues as to what was going on with him, but not coming to a sure conclusion.

“Of course.” Jared wrapped an arm around his neck like he might noogie him, but just dragged him off the bed to stumble onto his feet. “What do you say we go get a midnight snack?”

That sounded good to Stiles. He didn’t want to try to sleep again yet.

Jared took him out to a souped-up, black truck on huge tires that towered over the cars around it. They drove it through the drive-thru and ate too many hamburgers and milkshakes. By the time they got back to the hotel, Stiles was ready to go back to bed, rolling under the covers with a full stomach and a groan, feeling a carb coma sucking him down into a lethargic state.

“No nightmares,” Jared said, like it was a rule, and Stiles grunted his agreement to abide by it.

“So, what happened with Hale in New York?” he asked, finally, hesitantly.

“Nothing,” Jared said.

Stiles didn’t believe him, letting Jared see it on his face.

“Honestly, Stiles. I never even saw Derek. I was told to go take care of some business stuff, which I did, and then I got a message telling me to come back here again.”

“So, he didn’t order you away for saying those things to me about him?”

“I never said _that_. I’m sure he didn’t want me talking to you anymore, but apparently you requested me. Nice work,” he said, holding knuckles out for a fist bump. Stiles gave it to him with a roll of his eyes, but grinned, happy to have him back.

Jared plopped himself down in the armchair in the corner and kicked his feet up on the end of the bed, slouching with his chin on his chest and closing his eyes, settling in. “Goodnight, Stiles.”

“Goodnight.”

Stiles thought about how he had to be good enough for Hale, not just to get his dad back, but to be able to keep Jared and not have to forget him again. It made his stomach quiver with nerves at the thought of his own lack of chances to be good enough for a man like Derek, who obviously had everything.

He curled up and worked to go back to sleep, needing to be fresh and fully functional for what he planned to be a frantic day of probably hopeless preparation.


	9. Chapter 9

He slowly became aware of himself, opening his eyes and seeing Jared leaning against the wall, directly in front of him. Stiles’ chest welled with warmth and gladness. It felt like getting him back all over again.

“Hi,” Stiles said, his mouth stretching of its own accord, into what he was sure was a beaming smile.

Jared wagged his eyebrows in a playful, non-leering way, and grinned back. “You look better this morning,” he said.

Stiles’ thoughts from the night before came crashing back at the reminder. Mission impossible was awaiting. He needed to get himself together for Hale. He pushed himself away from the kitten, and sat up stiffly, his heart thudding a little fast.

He felt a warm hand on the nape of his neck, squeezing gently, bringing him out of a frozen state full of fearful thoughts; Jared had stepped up to the bed unnoticed while Stiles was panicking.

“There’s nothing to be afraid of, Stiles. What are you worrying about?”

“Nothing to be afraid of?” Stiles repeated, letting his incredulousness show.

“I know, it’s hard not to stress, but try. Derek’s arriving at the airport in an hour—”

“ _What?_ ” Stiles screeched, scrambling to escape the duvet wrapped around his waist.

Jared’s hand clamped down on Stiles’ nape, keeping him from jumping out of bed. It was surprisingly effective at trapping him in place. He understood a little why kittens surrendered when picked up by their scruffs.

“There’s no rush,” Jared asserted, tone firm, but calm, his grip softening. “He requests a meal with you, at your convenience. If you want to see him, I’ll let him know what time and where.”

“If _I_...” Stiles blinked at Jared. It felt like the core dynamic of the whole situation had been flipped on its head. “But...he’s the alpha.” 

“He’s not _your_ alpha,” Jared said. “He can’t tell you what to do, Stiles.”

Stiles blinked some more, but thinking back, nothing that had happened contradicted the statement, except for the way he had felt the past few days, helpless in his life and surrounded by Hale’s werewolves, with their tough looks and super senses and omnipresence, and the way they took Hale’s orders without question. Hale was obviously rich and powerful, and Stiles had felt small and malleable in comparison. In the short time since Stiles had found out that werewolves existed, Derek had provided meals, designer clothing, servants, bodyguards, hospital bill payments, a condo for his dad, a kitten, a penthouse suite, and a personal masseuse, _like it was nothing._ He was hot and filthy rich, and supernaturally strong on top of it. If Derek was any higher above him socially, they would live on different planets.

Their union was obviously not going to be an equal partnership.

He wondered again why the alpha had chosen him. But it didn’t matter. As Maury had said, the alpha wanted what the alpha wanted — and Stiles wanted what Stiles wanted, which was to have his dad back and not be alone for the rest of his life. They would both hopefully get their respective desires, whatever they may be.

“Where should I pick to eat? What should I wear?”

“How about your red hoodie? You like that one,” Jared said, like it didn’t matter. “And Maggie’s Diner?”

Stiles’ brows scrunched at Jared like the werewolf was insane. “Not exactly a great first impression,” he pointed out, annoyed that the wolf wasn’t taking this seriously.

“First—?” Jared cut himself off and shook his head. “This isn’t going to be your first impression, Stiles.”

“Right.” Stiles’ face heated as he remembered Jared’s story of him screaming and falling on his ass in the woods. “Ugh. Help me make a better impression, _please_ ,” he begged.

Jared rolled his eyes. “He already wants to mate you, idiot. What more do you want to do, melt his brain?”

Stiles refused to believe that there was any such thing in danger of happening. Jared finally gave into his begging and took him to a high-end clothing store to look for date clothes. 

Whenever Jared suggested any piece of clothing, it was always something comfortable and conservative, not what Stiles was going for at all. Stiles stopped listening to him, and searched through the racks on his own. 

A girl that was going through racks more lazily, like she was just passing time, eyed him. He tried to ignore her looks, feeling self-conscious. He didn’t look like he shopped there, in his baggy t-shirt and jeans. She fit her yellow dress perfectly and not a hair on her head was out of place. She reminded him of Lydia.

“Got some kind of clothing emergency?” she asked, startling him and annihilating his mission to go as unnoticed as possible.

“I need clothes for a date,” he said, almost a mumble under his breath. “I’m not used to dressing myself, as you can see,” he gestured to himself.

“Want some help?”

He hesitated only for a split second. “Yes, please!”

Ten minutes later, he was standing in front of a mirror, running a hand down the front of a button-down dress shirt with a cut that fit him too well to be work appropriate and thinking the pants disguised him as a person who actually had a sense of fashion. The girl was admiring her work, her eyes lingering on his hips and butt with an expression like she was considering trying to get in between him and his date. 

Jared was looking his body over dubiously.

“What?” Stiles asked, looking at his eyes in the mirror. 

Jared met his gaze. “Nothing.” 

Stiles looked himself over for flaws he might not have noticed, but his shoulders looked broad and his forearms were showcased in a nice way and there was nothing wrong with the silhouette the pants made.

“Thanks,” he said, to the girl, sincerely.

“No problem. Just…” She dug in her purse and took out a pen. She bit her lip shyly and took his arm, and he froze as she began writing a string of numbers and the name _Josephine_ on the inside of his wrist. “In case, you know, it doesn’t work out tonight.”

“Oh, um…” He took the hand back and rubbed the back of his head. “That’s...thanks, but I hope it’s going to work out tonight. I’m flattered, though—”

Jared’s arm came around his shoulders and led him away, and Stiles gave her an apologetic look and a wave, and she waved back, which made him feel less awkward.

They went to the counter, Stiles’ old clothes getting put in a bag, because he was wearing the outfit out of the store. 

“This, too,” Jared said, to the woman ringing up their purchases, and chucked a grey cardigan onto the glass counter. 

“That looks too small to fit you,” Stiles said, as they walked out to the truck. 

“It’s chilly. You might get cold,” Jared said, tossing it onto Stiles’ lap once they were in their seats.

“I’ll be fine,” Stiles said, setting it on the middle console and pulling his seat belt on.

Jared sighed.

“What?” Stiles asked. “Do I look wrong?”

“No. You look good, Stiles.” He didn’t seem particularly happy about it.

“Will Hale not like the outfit, though?”

“Hale will like it, don’t worry. Just, don’t stress, okay? He’s not going to suddenly not like you, because of one lunch date — no matter what happens.”

At those ominous last words, Stiles got more nervous. He wanted to know, “Like what?” but Jared wouldn’t elaborate.

They finally arrived at their destination.

He huffed at Jared’s stubborn lack of clarification as he dropped down from the truck and tugged the hem of his shirt down, looking at the fancy restaurant that he’d only ever been to once, with his parents on his mom’s birthday when he was nine. 

He took a step and then halted as his eyes landed on a man standing in front of the entrance, wearing a face Stiles wouldn’t soon forget, even though he’d only seen it once, on a tiny head shot photo. The man was looking back at him.

His clothes were conservative and comfortable looking, as if Jared had dressed him, just a dark charcoal sweater that followed the lines of his muscular frame, and black pants, but he still managed to look like he’d walked off the page of a magazine, with his mysterious eyes, and stubble, and general everything.

At no other point had this whole ridiculous thing seemed more like a dream to Stiles than at that moment. 

“C’mon, Stiles,” Jared said, taking him by the arm and making him move forward.

He felt stilted and hesitant, uncertain of what to do or say to the alpha. “Um…”

The glare that Derek gave Jared and the way Jared backed off didn’t help. 

“Remember what I said,” Jared parted with, giving Stiles a slap on the back and abandoning him.


End file.
